Work Experience
by AviShotgun
Summary: Alister Fletcher has little respect for Lara Croft - an attention-seeker and a fraud if ever he'd heard of one - and is therefore is more than a little dismayed when he discovers she's requested to meet with him.
1. The Invitation

**A/N: This story follows the Core Design continuity for the games (with Alister borrowed from Legend, of course) and is set sometime after Tomb Raider Chronicles.**

1.

She was a celebrity - a heroine, even, if you believed the bloody red-tops - so naturally it was far beneath her to bother turning up on time for a meeting with somebody as pedestrian as Alister Fletcher, even if it _was_ a meeting she herself had instigated.

In fact, Alister had been reluctant to attend in the first place, and has said as much to Professor Avery when the older man had called Alister into his office to inform him of her request.

"Absolutely not. _Absolutely not._ Not a snowball's chance in...in…" Alister couldn't quite bring himself to utter even the most innocuous swear word in front of his dignified dissertation tutor. "...in a frying pan."

Professor Avery raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and Alister continued.

"I mean, she's an absolute charlatan. Titillating lust-filled investors and charming feeble-minded academics, just so she can get funding to go crashing around important historical sites all in the name of 'saving the world' - i.e. getting her hands on some ridiculous little trinket she's decided has superpowers -"

Here Alister had to pause to catch breath. He could get quite wound up on the subject of Lara Croft.

"- and _then_ the media laps up her lies about dragons and Egyptian gods coming back to life like it's scientific fact. I mean, I've heard her described as an archaeologist! The woman doesn't even have a degree."

The professor looked unmoved by Alister's passionate condemnation. "She has several honorary degrees."

"Yes, from glorified polytechnics and university colleges desperate for a bit of media attention." Alister sounded more vitriolic that he intended to. He took a deep breath. "Professor Avery, I'm...I'm flattered that you've thought of me…"

"Quite evidently you're not, Alister." Professor Avery heaved his own sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I was aware that you weren't a fan of Ms Croft's work, but I didn't realise you held such a low opinion of her."

He looked a little disappointed, which distressed Alister, but he could hardly deny it now, could he? Professor Avery continued; "Personally, I find her to be quite an entertaining addition to the field. She's certainly enthused the nation with her exploits. Interest in history and archaeology haven't been so high in all the years I've been teaching."

"Yes, but all these new students want is to go crashing into ancient tombs and gather up whatever little pretty ornaments they can lay their hands on. Remember that incident in Giza?"

"I'll admit, the amount of copy-cat adventures _is_ rather troubling," Professor Avery conceded. "Especially considering the ramifications if they _were_ to stumble upon one of the more unusual artefact…"

Alister stared uncomprehendingly at his tutor. "Surely you don't _believe_ the stories she makes up?"

"Not necessarily all of them, Alister. But I can't help being a little intrigued…"

Alister could scarcely believe what he was hearing. This man he'd known for almost a decade, this man he admired and respected; this man was now saying he believe in a bunch of fairy tales propagated by a fraud? "Professor...are you _mad_?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he was already stuttering an apology when the professor started laughing. "Well, you certainly have strength in your convictions."

"Professor, I'm sorry, I-"

"It's okay, Alister, honestly. I've been called far worse."

Still, Alister was horrified with himself, and eager to make amends. Unfortunately, right at this moment, he could think of only one way to do that. Perhaps enduring an audience with Lara Croft would be worth it to stay on the professor's good side. "Did- did she say _why_ she wanted to meet with me?"

"No…" Perhaps sensing Alister's reluctant change of heart, Professor Avery opened one of his desk drawers and withdrew a business card. "Would you at least consider it? Most of my students would kill for an opportunity like this."

"Then why haven't you asked one of them, then?"

"Because Ms Croft wants _you_. She requested you by name, Alister. And she even asked me if your historical knowledge was as impressive as she had heard." At this, the professor smiled. "I said, probably more so."

Alister felt himself turn pink. "I didn't realise I had such a reputation."

"Let's just say I'm not the only one who recognises your potential." He slid the business card over to Alister who, after a moment's hesitation, picked it up and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Professor Avery's face broke into a wide smile. "Let me know how it goes, won't you?"

When Alister had rang the number on the rather nondescript business card, he had been expecting to get straight through to the great Lara Croft herself, so he was not at all pleased when he found himself speaking with a rather refined-sounding man instead. "Good evening. May I request your name and reason for telephoning?"

"Ah, it's Alister Fletcher." He resented being made to feel like a nuisance caller. "I'm calling because Ms Croft asked me to."

"One moment, please," said the man on the other end, and then the next thing he knew, Alister had been put on hold. On _hold_ , with Vivaldi's _The Four Seasons_ and everything. Really, it was too much, and he was just considering hanging up when the music cut out and a female voice came on the line. "Hello, Mr Fletcher?"

"Speaking."

"Thank you for calling. I presume Professor Avery passed on my details?"

 _You needn't think I'd be pursuing you otherwise_ , Alister thought, but he wasn't quite brave enough to say it. Instead, he simply replied, "He did. He said you requested a meeting."

"That's right. How does Thursday suit you - at the Randolph, in The Drawing Room? Two o'clock?"

"That would be fine." Alister immediately cursed himself for agreeing to the first time she had suggested. As though he had nothing better to do.

"Good. I'll see you then. Goodbye." Before Alister could speak again, she had hung up, leaving him with nothing but the realisation that he was regretting this meeting already.

He was going to leave, Alister decided. To hell with what the tardy Ms Croft may think. He didn't have the entire afternoon to waste on _her_ ; Alister Fletcher was a busy man. He had places to go. Books to read. Dissertations to write.

It was just as Alister was draining the last drop of water from his glass and psyching himself up to go when the double doors of the restaurant were swept open to reveal the curved, confident figure of a woman dressed conventionally for lunch in a purple wrap dress, kitten heels and a rather serious expression.

It was her.


	2. The Meeting

2.

Ten years ago, Lara would have strode into the Randolph wearing combat shorts and a vest top and to hell with what anybody else might think; it fact, at that age she had thrived on causing a stir among the social elite. But she was older and wiser now, and today was dressed as conservatively as anybody might when attending a lunch appointment at a five-star hotel. Beside not wishing to draw attention to herself (which was all too easy these days, an unwanted side-effect of the media attention), Lara was keen not do anything to scare Alister off, especially as she got the impression he was already reluctant to meet with her.

As uncharacteristically as she was dressed, the hostess still recognised her. "Miss Croft! What a pleasure."

"Good afternoon." Lara offered a polite smile. "Has my dining companion arrived?"

"He has. I've seated him in the alcove." The hostess returned Lara's smile. "I thought you might appreciate some privacy."

Lara wasn't too thrilled at the implication, but evidently this woman thought she was doing them a favour. "Thank you."

"Would you like me to show you over?"

"No, just kindly point me in the right direction."

The hostess gestured to one of the recessed windows, where Lara could see a man sitting at the table, watching them. She thanked the hostess again, and started to make her way over. The man rose to greet her.

"Mr Fletcher, I presume?" Lara extended her hand. He was younger than she expected - late twenties, perhaps, or early thirties, certainly no older than she was - but otherwise quite the stereotypical academic, bookish and bespectacled. They exchanged a brief handshake.

"Ms Croft. Glad you could finally make it."

Lara glanced at her watch. It was showing three minutes past two. "I apologise. It never does to be unpunctual, especially in my line of work." She gestured to the chairs. "Shall we sit? Have you ordered?"

"No," said Alister as they sat down. "I didn't want to be stuck here on my own with a meal if...ah…"

"If I didn't bother to turn up?"

Alister reddened slightly. "Well...yes."

Lara leaned back in her chair. "Forgive me for being blunt, Mr Fletcher, but you seem to have rather a low opinion of me."

She expected Alister to protest, but he didn't. "No offence, Ms Croft, but you don't exactly have the best reputation in my field."

"Oh? You could have fooled me. Everybody I've spoken to in your field - and by that, I assume you mean historical study - has been perfectly charming."

"There's a certain minority-"

"You mean you?"

Again, Alister didn't deny it. "I'm sorry. I just don't care for your methods."

This objection wasn't new to Lara. "I'll admit, they're somewhat unorthodox. But effective, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't. What about that pyramid you blew up?"

"Which one?"

Alister blanched. "There's been more than one?"

"If you're referring to the one on Atlantis, then blowing it up really was the best consequence for everyone."

"Oh, yes, because of the _mutants_." Alister's tone had become a little mocking. "I've read your...ah... _memoir_."

"I'm honoured," said Lara, shortly. She was beginning to tire of this man. "Am I to take it you're not interested in assisting me, then?"

"Assisting with what, exactly?"

"Well, everything. That business in Egypt has made me rather more cautious. A lot of it could have been avoided if I'd had the right support from the beginning." Lara decided she may as well give him the sales pitch. "I need a research assistant; somebody who knows a great deal about history, and, for anything they don't know, knows where to find it. I've been making enquiries, and your name has come up several times. Professor Avery in particular gave you a glowing recommendation."

For the first time since they'd sat down, Alister smiled. "He did?"

"Yes. But if you're not interested…"

There was a short silence. Then he sighed. "What exactly would the job entail?"

"Well, ideally it would be a live-in position - at the house in Surrey, so not too far away. Are you in a relationship?"

Alister looked startled at the question, and a little suspicious. "No. Why?"

"Purely for practical reasons. I'm not averse to hosting partners. Or dependants." When Alister didn't respond, Lara continued. "All amenities are included, of course, as well as a substantial wage. In return, I would require dedicated support while I'm out in the field, research assistance while I'm back at home, and the occasional odd job here and there. The rest of the time you'd be free to carry out your own research. You'd have full access to all of my libraries."

This last point was the one that piqued Alister's interest. "Your libraries?"

"Three at the house in Surrey alone. My great-great-grandfather was quite a bibliophile and managed to build quite an extensive collection in his lifetime. Subsequent generations have added to it over the years."

"Rare books?"

"The rarest. Some had a print run in the teens." Lara could see that the book collection would be the biggest lure for Alister, and decided to milk it for all it was worth. "I've had people break into my house, Mr Fletcher, and ignore my relic collection entirely - all they're interested in is looting my libraries."

This, it transpired, was the wrong thing to say. Alister snorted and shook his head. "Forget it."

Lara felt a little wrong-footed. "What? Why?"

"You're a fantasist."

Lara felt her temper rising. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"No. I'm calling you deluded."

Lara forced herself to remain calm. "That's not a word many people would dare mention in my presence, Mr Fletcher."

"Yes, and more's the pity!" Alister rose abruptly from his chair. "I'm sorry, Ms Croft. I don't have any more time to waste on your flights of fancy about mutants and library-looters and whatever other stories you've invented to fleece the feeble-minded rich. Please don't contact me again."

Before Lara could reply, Alister had turned on his heel and was stalking towards the exit. Lara was tempted to let him leave, but dammit, she needed an assistant and, no matter how off-putting his personality was, Alister really did seem to be the best person for the job. So she hurried after him, ignoring the mutters and stares of the other diners, and finally managed to catch up with him as he was exiting the hotel. "Mr Fletcher-"

Alister cut her off. "I've said everything I wanted to say." He pushed through the door and into the street outside, Lara only a step behind him.

"I can understand your objections," she said. "But I assure you, Mr Fletcher, I am not a fraud. Work for me and you'll be at the forefront of major historical discoveries." She lay a hand on his arm, in an attempt to stop him walking away. "You'll be the envy of Oxford, I swear it."

"More like the laughing stock." Alister shook off her hand and, not knowing what else to do, Lara let him disappear down the street. With a muttered curse, she headed back into the hotel, making a mental note to call Professor Avery later for another recommendation.


	3. The Article

Lara knew something was up from the moment she sat down for breakfast. Zip, her old acquaintance and recently-hired tech support, was looking bright and cheery, when normally he was all but falling asleep into his cornflakes. "Good morning, Lara! How are we feeling today?"

"Fine, thank you." Lara eyed Zip suspiciously as she picked up her spoon. "You're in an unusually chipper mood."

"What can I say? The sun is shining...the birds are singing...the bees are buzzing…" With this last remark, Zip turned the page of the tabloid that was spread in front of him and adopted a look of surprise. "And speaking of the birds and the bees, why - what's this?" He turned the page slightly so Lara could see more clearly what he was looking at - a full-page article with the headline _Lady Lara's Latest Lover._

Lara sighed. "What am I supposed to have done this time?"

"I think you mean _who_ ," Zip grinned. "Want me to read it for you?" Without waiting for a response, Zip cleared his throat and began.

"' _It seems that Lara Croft has finally grown tired of those dusty old mummies and is craving the company of somebody a little more lively.'"_

"Standards of tabloid journalism are as high as ever, I see."

"' _The archaeologist aristocrat, 34, has hung up her hot pants and hiking boots in exchange for something a little more appropriate_ _as she lunched at the Randolph hotel in Oxford with a male companion, identified by a witness as Alister Fletcher, a 32-year-old graduate student.' "_ Zip raised his eyebrows at Lara expectantly.

"It was a business meeting!"

"Sure it was. ' _The pair were seen flirting over an intimate meal, and later left the hotel hand-in-hand.'_ "

" _Flirting_? I've had more flirtatious encounters with Winston. And we never left hand-in-hand."

"' _A spokesman for Lady Croft was not available-'_ "

"Because they never bloody asked."

"' _-but a close friend of Mr Fletcher, who wishes to remain anonymous, said the relationship had been going on for some time, adding…_ '" Zip rose his voice pointedly as Lara started to protest again, "' _...adding that Alister had jilted his former fiancée_ _ **at the altar**_ _in order to be with the Countess.'_ "

Lara snorted. "It's Duchess, not Countess."

"Is that really the issue here?"

"It's the closest attempt at truth in the entire article."

"You sure? You look pretty loved-up in the photo."

He spun the paper round the face her and, sighing, Lara leaned over her bowl to study the photograph. It had been taken outside the hotel (the paparazzi were getting very stealthy; Lara hadn't even noticed them skulking about), and showed Lara and Alister talking, her hand on his arm. Without prior knowledge of their argument, Lara had to admit it did look a _little_ cosy. "Talk about the wrong end of the stick," she muttered.

"So he didn't leave his fiancée at the altar for you?"

"No! I imagine that particular break-up was entirely down to his personality. I met Mr Fletcher for the first time yesterday - and hopefully the _last_ time, I might add. He was not a pleasant man."

"Whatever you say. Listen, you haven't heard the best part:" Zip turned the paper back round towards him. "' _A reclusive figure, Lady Croft has nevertheless been romantically linked with a number of people over the years, including the Earl of Farringdon and convicted master-hacker Zip Dudley.'_ That's the best compliment I've had in weeks! I might clip it out and send it home to Mom."

Lara turned back to her granola. "At least it's not a complete waste of ink, then."

It was the following morning when the phone call came. Lara was sat in her office, staring at the blank screen of her laptop and wondering how on earth one went about putting that awful experience in Egypt into words. She snatched up the receiver, glad of the distraction. "Yes?"

"A Mr Delacroix for you, Ms Croft. He says it's urgent."

"Thank you, Winston." She switched the call to the first line. "Good morning, Lara Croft speaking."

"Lara, _mon cheri_."

Lara tensed when she recognised the familiar tones of Pierre Dupont come oozing through the receiver. "Pierre. Any particular reason for the pseudonym?"

"I thought maybe you would not be in the mood to talk to me."

"When am I ever?"

"I live in hope." Pierre gave a short chuckle. "Anyway, my darling, the reason I'm calling is to see if you'd be interested in a little trade."

"Probably not, but try me."

"The Midas finger?"

" _Definitely_ not."

"But you haven't heard what I want to trade for it…"

There was a rustling sound and then another, more frantic voice. "Lara? What the _bloody hell_ is going on?"

It was Alister Fletcher, and he sounded a lot less composed than he did two days ago. "Alister? Are you alright?"

"Alright? _Alright?_ Of course I'm not alright, I've been bloody kidnapped!"

"Has he hurt you?"

"No, but-" But before he could finish the sentence, there was more rustling and Pierre came back on the line. "Not yet, Miss Croft, but believe me, this will change. Unless, of course, we can reach an agreement."

Lara sighed. It was hardly a fair swap - a rare and powerful artefact for the life of a irritating history student - but it wasn't quite beyond her conscious to at least _try_ and get him back safely. "Where are you?"

Pierre gave the details of a hotel in the outskirts of Oxford. "You have until 9pm this evening, my dear, else your boyfriend is in the bottom of the Thames by half-past."

"Duly noted." Lara replaced the receiver and returned to the blank laptop screen, wondering when exactly she should start making her way over to Oxford. Sometime after lunch, perhaps. It wouldn't hurt Alister to sweat a bit.


End file.
